


Bonky: The Tales of a Nymphomaniac House-Elf

by onyxheart, Taisho



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Animagus Bestiality, Bestiality, Bonky is just... bonky, Bonky the house elf loves a good bonk, Crack, Crack Treated Seriously, Everyone Is Gay, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Funny, Graphic Description, House Elf/everyone, House Elves, House Elves gone Wild, Lust Potion/Spell, M/M, Masturbation, Multi, Nympho, Nymphomania, Nymphomaniac, Obsession, Odd terminology for genitalia, Orgy, Other, Polyamory, Polyjuice Potion, Porn With Plot, Shameless Smut, Stalking, The Authors are sorry, a lot of backstory for just pure depraved sex, actually, one author is very sorry, slutty house-elf, the other author could write this in their bizarre sleep, you can guess which one though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:33:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23743108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyxheart/pseuds/onyxheart, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taisho/pseuds/Taisho
Summary: Bonky is no ordinary house-elf. He has dreams, desires, and fantasies outside the scope of his small world as a Hogwarts house-elf. Born of bloodshed in Hogwarts Castle in 1874, you will be taken through the course of his long, passionate life - through his interactions with the Dumbledores, Tom Riddle, the Marauders and beyond.Bonky was first introduced in the two-part short story "Boners of Bereavement", featuring Severus Snape. This full length work gives full attention to the undocumented history of this unique creature.
Relationships: Aberforth Dumbledore/Animals, Aberforth Dumbledore/Goat, Aberforth Dumbledore/House-Elves, Aberforth Dumbledore/Original Character(s), Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Albus Dumbledore/House-Elves, Albus Dumbledore/Original Male Character(s), Albus Dumbledore/Other(s), Bonky/House-Elves, Elphias Doge/Albus Dumbledore, House-Elves/House-Elves, House-elves/Original Male Character(s), Newt Scamander/Creatures, Newt Scamander/House-Elves, Newt Scamander/Original Character(s), Tom Riddle/House-Elves, Tom Riddle/Original Character(s), Tom Riddle/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 11





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Boners of Bereavement - a two-part short story](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19212370) by [onyxheart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onyxheart/pseuds/onyxheart). 



Bonky the house-elf was born in Hogwarts Castle, at the winter solstice in the year 1874. As was customary amongst elves, he was fathered by the current Head-Elf of the establishment, who was always the only male allowed to bear children. His father, Edwinc, had borne many elflings during his long reign as Head-Elf; sixty-eight litters had been confirmed “official scions of Hogwarts”. This was due to the fact that, at the time, the Charter of Hogwarts still stated that only house-elves born in the school, and of the Head-Elf could be employed, in order to preserve its secrets. Finally, the day had come when Edwinc had fathered his sixty-ninth, and final litter. He did not know it would be his last, but he had chosen a young female, Helva, to fertilise his patriarchal seed.  
Almost every house-elf litter was guaranteed to produce seven offspring. Once in a generation, or even less frequent than that, a litter of six, or five may occur, in which case the mother would take full blame for the failure. She would be killed by the Head-Elf and chopped up for potion ingredients, have her bones boiled down for marrow broth, and then served to pupils in detention. In explanation for her crimes against the Head-Elf, she would be considered tainted by dark magic. It is for this reason that rare, sacrificed female house-elves are intensely coveted by wandmakers, who use their desiccated fallopian tubes to produce wands with a destiny to do unimaginable dark magic.  
Helva, however, did not produce a litter of seven, or less, but eight. Bonky, the elf of great renown and reputation in our time, was that very inauspicious eighth-born. He very nearly did not make it out of the hospital wing alive. Edwinc was incandescent with rage when he heard the news, and fiercely declared he would settle the litter at seven with the imminent death of Bonky. He called a Ghost Council in the middle of the night to try to conclude whether an unheard of eighth offspring was grounds for sacrificing Helva as well, but the judgement against her did not matter. After removing Bonky to safety, Helva ferociously attacked Edwinc while he slept, and thus the first Head-Elf to be assassinated was drained of life, and she took great delight in chopping him up, and creating broth from his withered bones. In Helva’s characteristically dramatic irony, she severed his wrinkled penis and withered testicles in the hope that Ollivander would be able to make a wand, and received a polite but succinct reply to the delivery of elf genitalia:

> _Dear Helva,_
> 
> _I was surprised to receive a package of your late Head-Elf’s reproductive organs. Howsoever this specimen ever created magical elflings is beyond my scope of understanding, for I have tested the samples and have discovered no discernible magical properties. It is, therefore, completely useless in wand-making, and I will bury them forthwith. Thank you for your contribution to wandlore, and I will be happy to accept any fallopian tubes, should they become available._
> 
> _G. O. Ollivander_

Ollivander’s revelation had earth-shattering consequences for the elves. The fact that female elves were sufficiently magical to produce powerful wands, but a long-reigning Head-Elf was essentially useless changed many elfish minds to the breakdown of their established patriarchal tradition. This, coupled with the ominous octuplets was no longer seen as a bad omen, but one which foretold prosperous changes. Headmistress Eupraxia Mole welcomed such changes amongst her staff, despite being as a result of graphic bloodshed. The school charter was amended, agreed by the board of governors, to give the sole responsibility of appointing a Head-Elf to the headmaster. Mole then took great delight in using her new powers to appoint Helva the first female Head-Elf, and Bonky’s safety was thankfully secured.

* * *

_Hogwarts Castle, 1888_

Fourteen years had passed, but the event - known amongst the elves as “Edwinc’s Downfall” - was not yet a distant memory. Bonky had grown up as rather an outsider amongst his elf peers; his birth had foretold the coming of Helva’s revenge, and the eventual destruction of patriarchal tyranny. It was a burden for him to be generally revered for something he had no part in. A newborn baby treated as such a powerful omen had left him growing up insular and distanced from his siblings, but having known nothing else he did not resent it. Instead, Bonky was a very independent, curious elf.  
He had, like the majority of Edwinc’s brood, a thin pointed nose and bat-like ears. Unusual among the Hogwart’s cohort, however, he had inherited his mother’s plump, pouty lips, and wide, full-bodied buttocks. The other elfings regularly made fun of his rotund behind spilling out of his loincloth, but he was unperturbed by their taunts - he liked it, and was secretly hoping the ravages of puberty would continue to expand and fatten it.  
Having just reached his fourteenth birthday, Bonky was officially employed as a house-elf, having come of age. He was no longer an elf-ward, an oft-forgotten youth, but a member of staff. He had been training amongst the adult elves since he was ten years old, and finally completed four long years of hard work and study to learn all that a house-elf at Hogwarts needs to learn. He had the entire catalogue of Helga Hufflepuff’s recipes committed to memory; a complete knowledge of all hallways, classrooms, lavatories, dormitories, and secret passageways; and he had perfected thousands of spells unique to elf-magic for cleaning, tidying, mending, healing, cooking, and all kinds of miscellaneous duties. He was fully prepared, and proud to serve Hogwarts for the remainder of his natural life.  
Bonky awoke with a fright on his first morning as an employed, adult elf. He had been having a strange fever dream which was both erotic and nightmareish. The images began to slip away from his mind as he came to waking consciousness, but he was keenly aware of being very aroused.  
“Oh, you naughty little pickle!” he squeaked, using the preferred word for his penis. “Bonky hasn’t got time to do pullings and rubbings ... Bonky starts work today!”  
“Is Bonky talking to his doodle again?” muttered Bonky’s bunk-mate, Flicky. She was a tired-looking, but friendly elf, two years his senior, who had seen far too much of Bonky in various stages of undress. She was well-known for sporting a patchy bandana, fashioned out of some old loincloth, which made her look rather tough. She covered one bulging eye with a bony hand, and squinted with the other at his tented sheets.  
“Flicky should not be looking, should she?” he said proudly; shyness was not a trait that had ever found its way into Bonky’s life. “But maybe she looks because she likes what Bonky has, doesn’t she Miss?”  
“Stupid Bonkikins … you know your kind doesn’t interest Flicky.”  
“My kind, Miss?” he said, asbent-mindedly playing with the fraying sheet around his erection. It twitched happily at his feeble stroking.  
“The male kind, Bonky. Your doodle-thing looks nasty to Flicky. All of them.”  
“All, Miss? Bonky only has one pickle, and it looks yummy like-”  
“No, silly!” she cut him off. “All … pickles! Every boy elf, of all shapes and sizes, Bonky.”  
“So if Bonky didn’t have a pickle, you would kiss him?”  
“I … I don’t think so, Bonky. You’d still be a strange elf. We are friends, dear, but Flicky does not share your desire for rubbing all the time. Flicky likes to work and clean and-”  
“And Flicky likes to rub her bean when she thinks Bonky is asleep, doesn’t she?”  
“BONKY! How dare you, dirty little elf … says Flicky does such things, oh, how evil you can be!”  
Flicky slunk out of their cramped bunk sobbing, with her loincloth still half on and tears hitting the flagstone floor in her wake.

* * *

_Slytherin Common Room, Hogwarts Castle_

“Late! Late for your first day on the job, Bonky! I thought you had your rota memorised? You disappoint me, child.”  
“Mother! Bonky is so sorry … Bonky was just …” he trailed off, eyeing Helva inquisitively. He wondered whether it was worth constructing a lie or just facing the castigation and moving on. His mother’s eyes, however, had just settled on a dark, wet patch on his cloth around his genitals.  
“Has Bonky peed himself, the shameless child? He turns up late to work for his first day, and dirty to boot. Bonky will scrub an extra corridor tonight, and be thankful he is not being drowned in the lake,’ she chided, pointing to the blue-green tinged window which looked out into the depths of the Great Lake, ‘as his father would have wished, no doubt! Why does Bonky repay so many sacrifices with scorn on his mother’s noble profession?”  
Bonky was merely glad that his mother had not discovered why his loincloth was wet. He had taken Flicky’s sullen departure as a green light to do what his body craved. His pickle had deflated to an exciting completion, and seeing he was already late, did a very slapdash job of cleaning up his sin.  
“Bonky is proud to start his noble work, mother, and won’t be late again!”  
“No, he won’t! Now, as you know, your first shift is the Slytherin Dungeons. You will change all the beds and clean the dormitories while the students are in classes, followed by the Head of House chambers, common room, bathrooms, and this is the first time you are being left to do your work unsupervised. Don’t forget: I want you to clean the sixth floor corridor as part of your punishment for being late, and polish the suits of armour. Do not let me down, Bonky!”  
“No, mother. Bonky won’t. So you are wanting me to do the bathrooms too?”  
“Well, yes, of course-”  
“Bonky can … can go wherever he wants? Even if the students are doing privates?”  
“They will not take any notice of you-”  
“And, mother,” he interrupted, “there is a male bathroom on the sixth floor, shall Bonky go in there? Shall Bonky clean the bathroom thoroughly?”  
“I only asked you to do the corridor … why are you so obsessed with bathrooms?”  
“Bonky is not upsetted! Bonky loves the bathrooms, he does.”  
“Oh, never mind! Just do your duties as requested and report back to me when you are done. Good day, Bonky.”  
So, Bonky set to his work with glee, happy to finally be an independent, working elf. It was hard, sometimes painful work, but it was exactly these strains of elf labour that provide satisfaction to their industrious race.  
Bonky, while strenuous and devoted to his craft, was among the least attentive and serious of his species. He found himself trying to clean the dormitories, but being easily distracted by sundry artefacts, letters, books, photographs, pets, and all kinds of magical objects, the function of which was usually unknown to him.  
Being that he was in the Slytherin dormitories, the objects he found were often full of dark magic, and he would come across letters and posters which pronounced a clear prejudice for ‘blood purity’. Bonky did not know what this meant, but as usual, he assumed it was a Wizarding trifle which did not interest him that much. One particular poster however, in the dormitory he was then cleaning, did interest him. He was taken in by the powerful image of a man and woman nakedly entwined in each other’s bodies, so erotic that he had to stop himself from bleeding the pickle on one of the student’s beds. He did not take much notice of the fact that the poster stated, in starkly emboldened letters:

> _PURE OF BLOOD, IMPURE TO BED_

He cleaned for a while, then sat about laughing at some Wizarding comics. He could not help feeling, despite loving his work and feeling obligated to the school, that there was so much in life that he would never be a part of. He could not read well, but what he could see from the pictures, and understand of the text, it was full of references to wand-duels, magical creatures, and Wizarding culture that was an impregnable bubble to his world: the very suffocating microcosm of life as a Hogwarts elf. The castle was vast, but after never leaving its grounds for fourteen years, it is surprising how intimate one can become with every inch of its walls. As a curious, independent elf, his mind often wandered to life outside the grounds, and to experiences deemed most inappropriate for a house-elf. He fantasised about having an active social, and sex life, not just with elves but having deep interactions with all kinds of people.  
He had taken longer than necessary cleaning the dormitories, taking full advantage of being unsupervised for the first time. He proceeded hastily to the prefects’ bathroom adjacent to the Slytherin common room. He did not know what he expected to find there, but he found himself full of excitement at the thought of initiating something. _Something naughty with a prefect_.  
Bonky’s mind was not complicated, as was the case with all elves, but he was singularly cunning, and creative when it came to getting what he craved and satisfying his curiosity. The ends were always simple, having simple desires, but the means were a meandering series of delicate, shrewd decisions.  
Bonky found the prefect’s bathroom empty when he entered. The far wall was almost entirely taken up by a vast, circular window, which gave a clear view into the depths of the Great Lake. A shoal of grindylow swam past, gnawing at some reeds and thrashing their tails. The murky green hue of the lake cast a strange glow on the already Slytherin-green tiles which lined the walls, and the room somehow smelled of salt water despite its being sealed off from the lake beyond.  
Bonky took off his loincloth with a cheeky smile, and walked around the damp edge of the biggest, most ornate bath which was set into the floor, with silver-inlaid steps down into its depths. The taps, of which there were dozens, were all shaped into solid-silver serpents, with gemstones of silver pearl and diamond set into their eye sockets. He got to work, cleaning in the nude and trying to keep his mind on the intricate details of his craft, to avoid arousal over his unabashed exhibitionism. He had never been naked in any part of the castle before, besides the elf sleeping quarters, annexed to the kitchens.  
“Bonky is free! Bonky, diddly Bonkikins is free, free, free!” he sang to himself as he scrubbed the taps, feeling a sense of freedom totally alien to elves. The sense of exhilaration that came with feeling free, which would be deemed wholly improper of an elf, overcame him.  
“Stickles one, stickles two, both are free to swing-a-ling! Looky a pickle, Bonky wants to tickle, but he’s free, free, free!” he chanted, getting increasingly loud and higher pitched.  
“A free elf. Well, what a sight!” came a low, drawling voice behind him.  
Bonky was excited. He was already preparing his speech in his head: how he had to remove his loincloth so as not to bring more dirt into the bath, and would Master or Miss like Bonky to assist them with their bath? Bonky will undress them and keep their clothes safe, and run them a wonderful bath and wait on them while they bathe their hot, glistening bodies.  
Bonky turned to face the visitor, unashamedly exposing himself in all his youthful, elfish glory. It was not a student however, standing in the entrance to the bathroom. In fact, no one was standing at all.  
“A naked elf, well I never! Filth! Abomination!” yelled the Bloody Baron, gliding towards where the elf stood, his chains rattled as he shook with indignation.  
“Oh, it’s just you, Baron,” said Bonky dejectedly. He made no attempt to cover himself up, but he was disappointed it was just the Slytherin house ghost.  
“Just you? JUST _YOU_? It’s you, _sir_ , infernal wretch ... verminous imp.”  
“You’re not Bonky’s master, or even a sir.”  
Bonky had not forgotten the Baron’s alliance with his father, Edwinc. During the Ghost Council on the day of his birth, the Bloody Baron had repeatedly called for Bonky’s death, and sacrifice of his mother Helva. The ghost was unwavering in his opinion on the subject, and still pleaded his case to anyone who would listen.  
“Edwinc, the greatest, noblest Head-Elf this school has ever seen, died while you were spared. You … worthless offspring of a cursed concubine, who has somehow ingratiated herself and manipulated her way to become a female Head-Elf! What wicked times I am obliged to suffer through. If I had my body, I would cut off your head in the blink of an eye, and that of your harlot mother.”  
“Well, the Baron is dead, isn’t he? Bonky would stand and fight him if he wasn’t a cowardly booby!”  
“Booby! I will not stand here and-”  
“Stand? How?”  
“AHHHHH!” bellowed the Baron, gliding with unnatural speed through Bonky’s body, giving him the strange sensation of being plunged into ice-cold water and remaining dry.  
“OOOH!” screamed Bonky. “Look at Bonky’s stickles! They shrinkled! Punish me again, Baron! Sir! Bonky wants to feel your cold body slide through his pickle!”  
“And I thought you could not act more base, you wily knave! Guilty of entreating a fellow man to lie with him, of engaging in perverse acts and persuasions, of ghastly perversions of a despicable, unmentionable nature! Get thee and thy deformed appendages out of my sight!”  
“The Baron can just say 'no;, sir, he doesn’t need to make Bonky more excited by calling him terrible names,” the elf said, his penis stiffening at being so comprehensively humiliated while exposed and vulnerable. Seeing the elf’s sudden erection brought the Baron’s temper to a peak of immense fury.  
“WAIT HERE!” he screamed, his pearlescent eyes darting quickly away from Bonky’s penis, which was bouncing happily at the attention.  
Bonky stood waiting for several minutes. At one moment, a sixth year student walked in on the naked elf, whistling innocently and still sporting a stiffness that would not abate. The student clasped her trembling hands to her mouth, and backed slowly out of the room. Bonky heard a faint gagging sound from outside but did not seem able to connect the dots.  
Finally, the Bloody Baron returned with an incredibly decrepit house-elf in tow, walking hunched and puffing breathlessly. This was Korpa, the oldest female house-elf in residence and therefore very respected among the elf clan. As with all house-elves, she was bald, but she had developed a very substantial dusting of white hair on her upper lip, and her incredibly long, sagging breasts drooped so low and pendulous that her withered areolas, and gnarled nipples could be seen dangling below her loincloth, past her knobbly, arthritic knees.  
“Baron, sir, what is this? Bonky get dressed!” she squeaked hoarsely.  
“Yes, Miss, but Bonky was just doing what Baron asked,” he said innocently.  
“Baron, you made Bonky take his clothes off? Sir, it is Bonky’s first day at work … it is unkind to do this to the young elf, sir!”  
“This is an outrage! Scandalous! Libellous fictions of a demented mind! Take this degrading specimen away from these noble dungeons at once, Korpa!”  
Before Korpa could reply, the Baron had swept out of the room, his clanking growing fainter and fainter.  
“Well, Bonky, what does you have to say for yourself?”  
“Bonky feels free with his pickle out!”  
“And Korpa feels free with her muffin out! But there are rules, Bonky!”  
“Miss … Miss isn’t going to punish Bonky?”  
“Dear Bonky,” she croaked, “Korpa was once a wild, lusty elf like him! The muffin may not be as moist as foretimes, and the milk sacs dragging on the floor, but Korpa still remembers. And how much the Head-Elf picked me for carrying his litters, so many times, because Korpa was good, and Korpa was a sexy, lusty elf, Bonky!”  
“Wow, Miss Korpa, you liked mating with him? Bonky thought it was wrong for an elf to distract from his duties, and do sex for fun!”  
“No, Bonky. This is something most elves cannot understand; sex is part of our duties. Sometimes, we are shirking duties if we focus only on house chores. Does Bonky know what I am saying?”  
“Bonky is sure he knows, and it makes him smile,” he squeaked happily, baring his pointy teeth in a wide grin. He put his loincloth back on half-heartedly, waiting patiently for the time when he could let his body breathe again.  
Korpa’s advice, whether correctly understood or not, had given Bonky the confidence and impetus to do what he had been craving for so long. He interpreted her words as a licence to seek sexual encounters with men and women under his care. It was not just for the thrill, but now it was a fully-formed responsibility in his mind: he must go to any lengths to please the inhabitants of the castle, sexually, romantically, and in any sordid schemes that they would let him partake in. Adventure was on the horizon, and Hogwarts was not prepared for this wayward, horny elf.


	2. Bonky & Albus, pt.1

_Platform 9 ¾ , September, 1892_

Albus Percival Wulfric _Brian_ Dumbledore tried to appear as calm as he could muster whilst observing the frenzied commotion on Platform 9 ¾, where the grandiose, scarlet Hogwarts Express was eagerly awaiting its bustling cargo. A large plume of steam erupted from the head train and billowed out onto the platform, smothering the jostling crowd and causing Albus’s piercing blue eyes to water. At least, he told himself it was the smoke that caused his eyes to leak profusely, and not the fact that he had to face departing for this daunting voyage all alone; he had no family or friend there to see him off. 

It was nothing new, of course, for his mother Kendra was busy looking after his younger brother Aberforth and their more dependent sister, Ariana. His father, Percival, with whom Albus shared the first of his middle names, was presently imprisoned in Azkaban for crimes which Albus preferred to ignore. Hence Albus’s preference for emphasising _Brian_ when giving his full name. It was the more ordinary and less emotive choice - one he could have pride in. Yet, his father's imprisonment would never be quite enough for Albus to stop himself from listing all of his names every time he could, of course. What use would having so many names be, if he could not spout them off at every available opportunity?

Accepting his fate for what it was, Albus squared his shoulders and pressed through the suffocating crowd so that he may find a carriage to settle into for the long journey. His slender frame allowed him to slip through the many tearful families saying goodbye with ease, although he nearly tripped a few times over his robe. It was one of his favourites; a rare find and one of a kind in a charity shop, but, alas, his mother did not have time to shorten its length. It was a bright purple robe, accented with lime green stars which sparkled dazzlingly in the sun’s reflection. Albus liked to wear it quite frequently as he considered it his lucky robe. It also had the effect of making his sister Ariana giggle, which filled Albus with pure joy. Presently, however, Albus only felt the deepest gloom and foreboding. Would Aberforth and his mother be able to cope with caring for Ariana without him? Her recent descent into sickness was like a constant shadow that hung over him

Albus was able to replace his feelings of unease with mild excitement as he settled into one of the misleadingly large compartments. His overstuffed trunk was thankfully levitated onto the shelf above his seat by a kind-faced Hufflepuff prefect, though not before Albus was able to remove an ancient, battered book from it. It was an autobiographical account of a seventeenth-century high-born wizard; a thrilling tale of his employment at the Elizabethan court, detailing his slow descent into madness as a result of Cambrian brain parasites. He found it was so easy to lose track of the time as he rapidly read the pages, his nose nearly touching the page and his lengthy auburn hair cascading over the pages. That was why, when the compartment door opened and a shy, sickly looking boy entered, Albus paid no mind. 

It was not until the trolley witch came to their section, some two hours into the journey, that Albus even paused to look up from his book. Albus _loved_ sweets; sharp, sour, minty, or fruity - he loved them all. He had saved a few extra galleons for the journey as he knew he would not be able to resist temptation, or even feign to try. He quickly ordered sugar quills and some 'extra fizzy'fizzing lemon bonbons, salivating as he rushed to grab them off the smiling, frumpy witch. Hurriedly unwrapping a bonbon and putting it in his mouth, Albus moaned with delight as the sweet fizzed and dispersed its lemony flavour.

“A-Are they very good?” a high-pitched, rattling voice queried, distracting Albus momentarily from his sweet-sucking.

Albus looked across from his seat, where a short, timid-looking boy sat with a peculiar green tinge to his skin and a face riddled with small bumps and holes. Albus easily recognised the symptoms of dragon pox, having had a mild case himself at the age of four, and he remembered it vividly. He bookmarked his bulky tome and set it aside under the seat; he needed it well out of the way, should his new companion begin to spit fire.

“Oh, indeed. They’re capital! I say, you absolutely _must_ try some. Here, here, take one old chap! Take several!” Albus responded, quickly passing over a handful of his sweets to the unfortunate boy. He thought maybe the cool, lemony zing would help settle the boy's feverish tongue. Albus had touched the boy’s hand, but did not care one whit, for he had been immunised after contracting it in his youth.

The mysterious green-skinned boy smiled brightly, his delightfully warm, brown eyes shining. Albus thought hopefully, as their eyes met, it was as two outsiders recognising each other.

“Oh, th-thank you. I hope you don’t mind my sitting here, I tried many compartments but nobody wanted to sit with the _pox-boy_ ,” he sighed, emphasising his shame. “I am taking the potions to fight it, but people wouldn’t listen, you know. As it was just you in here, I thought maybe it would be okay …” 

“Nonsense! Of course it is just fine. My mother would have my hide if she knew how much of my money had been lost to this delightful confectionery. It is, therefore, most fortuitous that I have a companion with whom I can share my spoils!” said Albus, waving a dismissive hand. His mother truly did not like Albus’s sweet-toothed disposition, mostly due to the fact that good dentists refused to attend to the Dumbledores, not disguising their revulsion of her husband’s incarceration. “Now, what do I call you?”

After the customary introduction, of which the young and sickly Elphias Doge paid no mind to Albus’s surname (much to his relief), the boys spent the remainder of the journey to Hogwarts in peace, playing rounds Exploding Snap to break up the chatter.

* * *

_Great Hall, Hogwarts Castle_

“Dumbledore, Albus!” the deputy headmaster, Professor Black, called sonorously. Whispers and muttering broke out amongst the sea of students’ heads watching the annual Sorting. Albus was only disappointed that the professor had not called out his full name. Professor Black irritably shushed the students with a sharp wave of his hand, and beckoned him to the stool before placing the Sorting Hat on his head.

 _Hello, Mr Sorting Hat_ , he thought. Albus knew all about the ceremony from the recollections of his father - Percival was never one for surprises. _I very much enjoyed your song, in fact it reminded me of one my mother often sings to Ariana before supper: ‘and his coat was made of good roast beef, of good roast beef, of good roast beef ..._ ’ Albus closed his eyes, a smile on his fair face as he reminisced.

“My, my. Partial to quite the flights of fancy aren’t we, Mr Albus Percival Wulfric … _Brian_... Dumbledore? Yes, I said your full name, for I can see this pleases you. Certainly self-serving, and quite the thirst to prove yourself, yet loyal to your sister with nary a fault. Hmm.”

Albus thought he could physically feel the Sorting Hat’s magic as it filtered through his mind to ascertain his character, personality, ethics, and idiosyncrasies. It was not pleasant but it was not uncomfortable either. In fact, Albus found that if he tilted his head a certain way, it almost felt as if one was receiving a brain massage. _Simply sublime._

“And an inherent understanding of the subtle arts of the mind! Very few students can do more than hear my voice. I know, however, you can sense my magic searching your mind, like tendrils feeling their way through every synapse and sinew!"

 _Why is that so special? It does not sound like it will be particularly useful besides this singular occasion_. 

“You still have much to learn, but I suspect that you will become a great Legilimens and Occlumens. Oh, and with such an impressive catalogue of miscellaneous knowledge amassed in here. Have you really read this many books? So, perhaps Ravenclaw, although that also does not feel correct for you ...”

Albus felt sorry for the hat as it seemed to be in a serious quandary. The hall had been quiet after the Professor Black had quietened them, however a scattering of tense chatter soon broke out as the students wondered what was taking so long. After what felt like an eternity had passed, the Sorting Hat suddenly growled in Albus’s mind, making him jump off the stool.

“Well, Albus Percival Wulfric _Brian_ Dumbledore, whilst it has been a delight getting to know such a splendid prodigy, I am simply at a loss. Please, will you assist me? Either Ravenclaw, for you clearly possess great wit and academic promise, or Gryffindor, where your fierce bravery will help you to break free of what is holding you back.”

Albus pondered for a moment, weighing up the two choices. He knew he would do well in Ravenclaw, in fact it had been all but decided that he would go there by his family, but Albus craved something more than just his books. His father had been a Gryffindor, which made Albus rather reticent about allowing himself to be placed there. Then again, Elphias, his new friend had just been placed into Gryffindor, and the boy’s shy, friendly nature was as infectious as his pox. 

_Mr Sorting Hat, I have made a decision_ , Albus thought, his eyes twinkling as he peered out into the staring crowd..

“Indeed, you have. Better be … GRYFFINDOR!” the Sorting Hat proclaimed, announcing the last word loudly to the waiting throng. The applause was slow to start, but it did not bother Albus much as he was welcomed warmly by his new green-tinged, pock-marked friend at the Gryffindor table.

______________________________________________________________

The first term had passed by with a speed that Albus wished he could achieve on a broom. He still wobbled haphazardly on every attempt, even after twelve flying lessons. His long limbs and knobbly knees were surely to blame; it was hard for him to manoeuvre the broom once aloft when his elbows stuck out at odd angles. It was immaterial now, however, for the weather had swiftly turned to such blizzardous conditions that all Quidditch had been cancelled until after Yuletide.

Albus had decided to stay at Hogwarts for his first winter break, having quickly found, rather guiltily, that he much preferred the tranquility of Hogwarts Library to incessant bickering at home. Not that he would ever tell his mother or brother this. Albus dispatched a missive by owl, explaining that he was suffering from seasonal influenza, and would not on any account put vulnerable Ariana at unnecessary risk. Elphias, his best friend, was unfortunately not staying at Hogwarts with him. He did not hold it against him, of course - who could deny the attraction of returning to a much more joyful and loving home than his own. The vast assortment of candies that Elphias had sent Albus had absolutely, in no way, influenced his lack of resentment for being abandoned. 

Only a handful of Gryffindors had elected to remain behind this winter, so the common room was a lot quieter than usual, and it was easy for Albus to get absorbed in the world of literature. That is why, on Christmas Eve, he was oblivious to fifth-year bully, Horton Hogglesbay, having snuck into the first-year dormitory, and stolen Albus’s most beloved robe. It was not until the following morning that he found it - parts of it - in the common room. It was completely ripped to shreds, its purple, sparkling fragments scattered around the common room, some of which were scorched in the fireplace. The book he had been reading the previous night was now defaced with scribbles such as ‘Muggle hater!’, ‘Azkaban scum’, ‘ _ROt in HELL!_ ’, ‘ _yOU aint no Griffindor_ ’ in obnoxiously thick, black ink. None of the remaining Gryffindors said a word of comfort to Albus as he stood there shaking and crestfallen. So he turned on his heel, tears swimming in his pale blue eyes and sped out of the portrait hole, leaving behind the cold, wrathful glares of those ‘brave lions’.

Albus wandered the deserted corridors aimlessly, trying to calm down. It was not the first, nor the last time, that someone would bring up his father’s past, and lay blame on him by association. The difference was that many of the Pureblood students, and even some of the faculty, revered Percival Dumbledore. Exactly two hundred years had passed since the witch trials in Salem, and the effects of such persecution were still very raw to many blood purists. The fact that Albus himself was half-blood did not stop the Muggle-borns hating him either. Albus found he was suspended between two sides, struggling to balance them both. He would nod approvingly at the purists so as not to be called a blood-traitor, and would apologise earnestly to those who felt threatened by his father’s actions. Albus just hoped that he could create a more positive image of himself, and rise above his family's sordid past. He hoped he could be better. 

_______________________________________________________

_Come and Go Room, Hogwarts Castle_

_January, 1893_

Bonky the house-elf had come to the Room of Requirement, a room largely unknown by the human residents, but known widely by the elves. His eighteenth birthday celebration was fast approaching, and he had come to rummage for decorations. He had his lengthy, pointed nose buried deep in a mouldy-smelling box, his rotund bottom sticking out in the air as he wriggled to extract a piece of tinsel buried underneath a heavy chain. The massive oak doors at the front of the room suddenly creaked shut. Bonky jumped with a squeak, accidentally ripping the tinsel, and flew backwards into a tower of lantern covers which toppled to the floor with a deafening crash. Bonky became vaguely aware of someone approaching him as he wailed in frustration, however he made no effort to compose himself. He was not one to pass up a chance to play up theatrically.

“S-Sorry. Are you injured?” said a soft, male voice. Bonky was surprised at how a human was showing him genuine concern. He peeked at the visitor, with one beady, amber eye which flashed upon a red-headed young student, whose cheeks were burning red, and seemed to be in need of comfort, too.

“Bonky is not feeling pain, over the knockings and tumblings, young master. Bonky is a clumsy mess today, and wants his tinsels,” he sniffed, finally sitting up to see the student more clearly. “What is the young master being sad about?” Bonky asked emphatically.

“N-Nothing. Let me assist you with your tinsel, will you? I’m Albus Wulfric Per-” he stammered, “...uh, _Brian_ Dumbledore, by the way.”

“Oh, that would be much kindly of Master Albus Wulfric Per- _Brian_ Dumbledore!” Bonky exclaimed, though doubtful that the boy was truly okay. Perhaps he would tell Bonky what was wrong after they got the tinsel, he thought. 

Together, they struggled, pulled, yanked, and grappled between the box, the chain, and the tinsel underneath. It took them two attempts at doing it manually before Albus remembered that he was a wizard. 

“ _Wingardium leviosa_!” he exclaimed with ease and precision.

He skillfully executed the Levitation Charm and the chain lifted weightlessly out of the box, with the tinsel snaked around it. Bonky also came to his senses and snapped his fingers. They watched, entranced, as the tinsel unwound itself and became free.

“Oh, thank you, sir!” Bonky yelped, waving the tinsel excitedly. “Young Master Albus Wulfric Per- _Brian_ Dumbledore is such a kind wizard to Bonky. Truly, truly! Bonky’s party will be fabulous now!”

“It is your birthday? Felicitations!” Albus rejoiced, beaming at the diminutive creature. “And, er, my name is actually Albus Wulfric Percival _Brian_ Dumbledore. Though, do just call me Albus, if you please.” 

“Yes, Bonky is to be eighteen, sir! If Young Master Albus is wanting, he could come to the party! But, is the master sure he wants to be called Albus, and not _Brian_ , dearest? Bonky is having much fun saying _Brian_ the way that master is saying _Brian_ , too.”

Albus laughed, the silly elf lifting his depressed spirits. 

“I’m glad you find it as entertaining as do I, Bonky, but let us stick with Albus. Would you like a bonbon?” 

* * *

Bonky the house-elf led Albus down many flights of interconnecting stairs, as he sucked loudly on the sweet. Finally, they stopped at a painting of a fruit bowl. 

“Master Albus,” he said, smacking his sticky, sugary lips, “please give the pear a good tickling. It loves it!” Bonky instructed, watching as a bemused Albus did precisely that. He watched the awe in his new friend’s eyes as the portrait swung open to admit them. It revealed a large, cavernous kitchen, which was full of pots and pans bubbling, whistling, and steaming away. Some of Bonky’s house-elf colleagues approached them in a huddle, eyes bulging and dozens of bony arms outstretched carrying trays laden with food. 

“Bonky, there you is! Bonky ... the only one missing for his own birthday! Silly Bonky.”

An elf, shorter than Bonky with a stubbier nose than normal reprimanded him with a stern expression. She was wearing her customary dirty bandana, fastened tightly around her bald head.

“Flicky!” Bonky exclaimed excitedly. “Bonky is sorry, but he was busy making a friend with this young Master Albus, a _great wizard_!” Bonky said conspiratorially, dramatically lowering his voice to a whisper.

“Enough, Bonky,” said an elderly elf. “Come immediate, it is time we starts the party. Klemens is wanting to dance for you - a gift from my grandson.” 

Korpa, Klemens’s grandmother, was a demanding old elf. Why she would want to be around to witness Klemens’s dancing was a mystery to Bonky. He did not question it, as was his way. Bonky just grinned, a little madly, and grabbed Albus’s hand to drag him into the bizarre world of a house-elf party.

_____________________________________________________________

Albus had the time of his life. For a good six months after the party he still had vivid memories of what he had witnessed; he had no idea elves were capable of such shenanigans. They were truly magnificent creatures, and he found himself lamenting the fact that the Dumbledores had not owned one for generations. Bonky’s house-elf friends knew how to throw a party, that was for sure. Admittedly, it was the first party Albus had ever been to, and therefore had nothing for comparison, but he somehow knew it was extraordinary.

On the train from Hogsmeade to King’s Cross, Albus had plenty of time to reminisce; Elphias, the only other companion in the compartment, had fallen fast asleep within an hour of departure.

Albus had been shocked at the variety of characters he met, having only ever encountered elves at work for rich families. They had tended to have tough regimes and strictly enforced uniforms. Hogwarts elves, although dressed in matching loincloths, had very clear differences in personality and style. Klemens, in particular, caught Albus’s eye for several reasons. Despite his youth, Albus had always been aware of his attraction to the same sex. He did not really care to hide it, for ‘love is love’, and it was futile worrying about those who did not support love. 

Still, he did feel uneasy with himself, when his keen intrigue focused upon the teenage elf-boy, Klemens. His large, pointed ears were embellished with a multitude of piercings; silver rings and bars, with one of his lobes gauged to a size larger than his fist. The elf's punk aesthetic was enchanting to Albus, having spent most of his life around very plain, orthodox men. The alternative elf had performed an obscene dance for Bonky, lewder than anything Albus had seen, or had even been capable of imagining. His writhing, elven body distended, twirling around the broom they had magically stuck to the ceiling. The way he dropped low and bent forward, before snaking his way back up the makeshift stripper pole haunted Albus’s dreams. He wished Klemens would dance like that on him, without the loincloth, and maybe a hot bath first.

“Oho, you is a wizard,” Klemens had approached him matter-of-factly. His eyes were lined with charcoal, giving him an edgy, raccoonish appearance.

“Y-Yes, you are quite right,” Albus said, never feeling so ugly and drab in his life.

“Can I strokes your wand?” he asked gruffly.

“E-Excuse me?” He was now very hot under his robes.

“I wants to make sparks,” the punky elf said, winking at him.

Albus had never in his life heard of a non-human wanting to play with a wand. In fact, he was sure it was strictly prohibited by law, not to mention flagrantly against the elfish code of ethics. It was for this precise reason that his attraction to Klemens was solidified. Albus never could resist a rebel. 

He handed his wand to the elf, and let him shoot some red and gold sparks from its end, before hastily shoving it back in his robes.

“Thanks, little wizard. You is a true elf-friend. Klemens will come find you again, if you’ll let me play with it some more?”

“Uh, … well, my ...most assuredly. Count on it, dear elf,” he said, taken aback.

Albus had realised rather quickly that all the house-elves were drunk on some seriously potent, bootleg elf wine. Bonky had wasted no time in downing an entire tankard of the hooch, spilling it all over his loincloth before burping loudly. Albus had been shocked, not knowing that house-elves could let off steam (besides when taking a pan off the boil), though he soon learned that the Hogwarts clan was like a breed of its own. The headmaster was merely a bureaucratic sort of overseer, and did not truly _own_ them, though they had enough respect for the position to follow orders. They came in all shapes and sizes, spanning an incredibly wide range of ages. Klemens had been suggestively dancing directly in front of his grandmother, Korpa, without any shame appearing on his handsome elven face. She, in turn, had chugged down a flagon of the mead without a second thought, sloshing it all over her mustachioed mouth, wrinkled chin, and sagging chest.

Korpa, her tiny arms flailing and slurring her words, had then become so intoxicated that she dragged a shell-shocked Albus into an odd interpretation of ballroom dancing, made rather difficult by their startlingly contrasting heights. She twirled him round and round the kitchen floor, chanting some raunchy elven song he had never heard before, and pushed him (with surprising strength) towards Bonky and Flicky. The drunk old elf tottered off zig-zagging, tripping, and finally falling face first into a floating cake. One of her pendulous, saggy tits flopped out of their cloth wrappings, which - a tragic result of the tit’s length, and her stooped height - grazed the floor. She tripped over her own trailing, exposed breast, to the intense mortification of Albus who was watching, gobsmacked. The house-elves then seemed to realise that the party was perhaps not the sort of place a first-year should be, and Bonky nobly escorted Albus out of the kitchen, squeaking his sincerest thanks for coming.

It was safe to say that Albus had forgotten the Gryffindor bullies that night, though he would often think about his favourite robe, and wonder if he would ever look that fabulous again. The rest of the year, besides some pestering from Hogglesbay and like-minded students, had passed quite smoothly. Albus received glowing reviews from the whole faculty, and he was shaping up to be quite an exemplary student. Elphias, though not quite as brilliant, was bright enough to keep him mentally engaged. They would stay up until the late hours, reading and debating magical theory.

His mother and Aberforth were waiting for him at King’s Cross when he disembarked the Hogwarts Express, though he wondered where Ariana was. They took a portkey back to their residence at Godric’s Hollow, where Albus knew he would spend his summer in quiet isolation; Kendra did not like him or Aberforth to go out on their own. Little did he know that his mother had managed to form a burgeoning friendship with Bathilda Bagshot, their neighbour, and what that would change in his future.

He sat at last in his cramped, midnight blue bedroom, stuffed from shelf to shelf with books. There were even overflow piles on the floor, on the windowsill, and end of his bed. His head was, however, not in a book right now; he laid on his bed, thinking back to those quirky, fascinating elves. The ditzy Bonky, who had let him in on their world, the unashamed Korpa, who was partying well into her nineties, and the charismatic Klemens, with his seductive confidence and very unelfish interest in wizards. He missed Elphias and the elves already, but he knew as long as they were there for the rest of his time at Hogwarts, he could survive anything.


	3. Bonky & Albus, pt.2

_Phoenix Cottage, Godric’s Hollow_

_July 1893_

“Albus, you can leave me for a while. Go and play outside,” said Ariana, propped up in bed. She had a pale, fatigued face, warmed only slightly by a timid smile. She was sweet, and pretty, but illness had already ravaged the radiance of her youth.

“Nonsense! I much prefer to keep you company, dear.”

This was a lie, but Albus had just enough mental reserves left to protect his sister’s feelings. The truth was that this summer had almost broken his spirit. Day in, day out - with help from Kendra and Aberforth - he would supervise Ariana, wash her, feed her, and calm her down during constant fits and seizures. Albus was not built for that kind of … _servitude_. He loved his sister dearly, but he had begun to feel very self-pitying, and hated himself for it. All through his first year at Hogwarts, some of the students may have given him grief, but the teachers overwhelmingly adored him and sang his praises. He went from a celebrated prodigy, to essentially a babysitter. Not to mention, all this time he was spending minding Ariana, was time lost for studying and securing his high standing in the world of academia.

“You are miserable, brother.”

“Tosh!” he exclaimed, rather too defensively.

“I’m sick, Albus. Not brain-dead,” she said sweetly. Her piercing, Dumbledorian eyes met his, and he felt as if she was looking directly into his soul.

“Ari, dear, you know I would never begrudge caring for my sister. It is a duty I am honoured to-”

“And doing your ‘duty’ is not the same as doing what makes you happy, is it? Please, at least let me watch you at play or study.”

“Well … mother would disapprove. Perhaps I could bring my potion kit into your room - I have been hoping to try an advanced draught I read about, but time flies when …”

“I know,” she eyed him in silent apology. “Go get your kit, Albus! Let me see my brother … _future master potioneer_ … at work.”

Albus returned, hunched under the weight of carrying his pewter cauldron, scales, pestle and mortar, and various ingredients. He sat cross-legged on the rug beside Ariana’s bed and pulled out a bescribbled piece of parchment from his robes. He had been waiting for this owl from Professor Black (the Deputy Headmaster and Potions Master) all summer, and his clammy hands shook with excitement as he read its contents for the tenth time.

> _Dear Albus,_
> 
> _I am currently at home in my London townhouse. When Kreacher, my house-elf, first notified me that I had received an owl from a student, I was outraged. The summer holidays are a much needed respite for us of the teaching profession. But, when I heard it was young Albus Dumbledore, now that is a different matter! You have made quite the impression in your first year, young man._
> 
> _My dear boy, I had no idea there was a gin distillery in Godric’s Hollow, and for you to have infused it yourself with blackberries from your garden was a delightful touch. I am most obliged to you, and rest assured I am still drinking it as I write to you. I have not quite drank through the twelve bottles you sent to me, but it will not be long before I secretly hope for another delivery._
> 
> _Now, to your request - such nerve and boldness you precocious child! You have requested my help in acquiring the recipe for Skele-Gro. As you well know, the recipe is a protected secret by its manufacturer, Rubens Winikus and Company. You will also know, for you flattered me so kindly in your letter, that I have many connections amongst the Most Extraordinary Society of Potioneers. It just so happens that there is a young apprentice at Rubens Winikus who desperately wanted his Acceptable N.E.W.T. in Potions upgraded to an Outstanding, and I was happy to amend his school records in exchange for the recipe. Now that you are a party to the bargain, I hope that your keeping the Skele-Gro recipe to yourself will be a sufficient trade for our collective silence on the matter._
> 
> _Please find the recipe attached, along with your Hogwarts letter. I thought you might wish to purchase your second year set books early, to give you a head-start on absorbing their contents._
> 
> _Your humble servant,_
> 
> _Phineas Nigellus Black_
> 
> _P.S. Please note, this letter will self-destruct if anyone but Albus Dumbledore reads it. Any attempts to share this information, or publically characterise the Deputy Headmaster as an alcoholic will result in expulsion from Hogwarts._

Albus took a deep sigh of satisfaction and got to work on the recipe he had already memorised. Ariana looked on happily as he set the cauldron to a low simmer and steeped Chinese Chomping Cabbage in the water, which he had cut into long, thin strips. While the cabbage infused the liquid with dark-green, flatulent vapours, he began grinding five medium-sized scarab beetles in his mortar.

“Albus, that stinks!” Ariana grimaced, as she pinched her nose.

“Quite, but not as bad as it will eventually taste.”

“What does it do exactly? Nothing that ghastly can be _good_ magic.”

“Dear, there’s no such thing as good and bad magic. There is powerful magic, and the more … _mundane_. This potion is for healing ... for, uh, mending people,” Albus stuttered, trying to avoid being more specific. He did not want to put his good standing with Professor Black at risk.

“Oh, Albus! Is it for me? Are you going to mend me?”

The suddenly hopeful glint in her eyes made her glow brighter than he had seen her for years, which broke his heart.

“No, Ariana,” he said plainly, adding his crushed beetles to the cauldron, which fizzed and turned more opaque. “What ails you cannot be healed or mended … yet,” he added.

“So you think a cure may come one day?”

“Well, if it does not, it shall not be for my lack of trying, dear.”

Albus worked away conscientiously, his long nose peeking over the cauldron at regular intervals to inspect its progress. Ariana had been quietly watching for almost an hour, and she almost dozed off to sleep when Kendra appeared in her bedroom doorway, her face livid and height suddenly intimidating.

“Merlin’s beard! What are you doing, Albus?”

“I am minding Ariana, mother, as requested.”

“Insolent child! Making potions! By her bedside! You will give her a seizure you pea-brained imbecile. Apologise at once, and take that rubbish away.”

“She was almost sleeping when you interrupted, mother. Maybe _you_ should apologise.”

She stepped forward and gave Albus a hard whack across the head with the back of her hand. His long, auburn hair was in disarray, but he did not give her the satisfaction of yelping in pain. Instead he gritted his teeth and carried on with his potion-making.

“ _Tergeo_!” 

Kendra had initially intended to empty the contents of the cauldron, but Albus had pushed the full weight of his body into his mother’s legs so hard that they buckled, and her spell hit the curtains. They looked suddenly brand new; her misfired spell had removed a stubborn layer of dust and grime.

“YOU … DEVIL!” Kendra screamed, and Ariana whimpered in fear at the scene.

“ _Petrificus totalus_! Sorry mother, I really must finish this potion.”

Albus dragged his mother, stiff as a board, to the landing beyond. Once she was a safe distance away from the door, he cried, “ _Finite_!”, to rouse her, and slammed and sealed the door shut with a flick of his wand.

He and Ariana waited breathlessly for a moment.

“Why is she not trying to get back in?” his sister asked.

“Oh, she has just remembered that she agreed to meet Bathilda for tea. Alas, she’s already late.”

“No, she didn’t, Albus. She had tea with her on Sunday like she always does. Oh, you tricked her with magic, didn’t you?”

Albus winked, and returned to his potion.

“You scare me sometimes, brother,” she said. “You never told me why this is so important, Albus?”

“I am making it as a gift for the new healer of the Hospital Wing at Hogwarts. It is an expensive potion to keep stocked.”

“You are going to all this trouble for that? Why do you want the grown-ups at Hogwarts to like you so much?”

“Most of them already do,” said Albus plainly. “This one is harder to impress, not being in an academic position. Not to mention they are beautiful, but that is irrelevant, of course.”

“Albus is sweet on a teacher! What’s her name?” she giggled.

“ _Rupert_. Rupert Derwent.”

* * *

_August, 1893_

Albus saw more punishment in the following few days than he had in his entire life. He suffered through it all knowing that it had been a small price to pay to finish his Skele-Gro successfully. His perfect batch had made eighteen bottles of the stuff, which were now lying in his school trunk under a strong Concealment Charm. Besides, the events to follow - though not done for the purposes of revenge - had the added benefit of causing Kendra immense displeasure.

It began on August 2, upon the surprising arrival at Phoenix Cottage of Professor Brutus Scrimgeour, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

“Good afternoon, madam. May I?” he said, entering the Dumbledore’s abode without waiting for a response. He led the way, with Kendra in his wake, into the periwinkle lounge. It had a comfortable air, but it was clear the family was not wealthy. Ariana sat propped up in an armchair with Aberforth at her side, playing with a docile St. Bernard puppy. Albus had his head in a book, titled _Land Law in Magical Settlements_. He snapped it shut upon seeing his headmaster.

“Well, what a singular occasion brings me here today. I shall get to the point quickly, Mrs Dumbledore. Has your son, Albus, kept you _au courant_ with our correspondence?”

“I was … not aware you had corresponded with my son at all, sir,” she said, her face reddening. 

“Mother,” Albus began, looking at her calmly, “Phoenix Cottage is now officially part of the grounds of Hogwarts. As head of this family, after our delightful father’s incarceration, I have signed the deeds over to Professor Scrimgeour here.”

“You’ve WHAT? Professor, is this some kind of joke?”

“No, madam. Rest assured you can continue to live here, rent-free, as before.”

“Why would you even … I won’t allow this, Albus! You’ve gone far enough!”

“You will allow it, mother, because it is my decision to make. Nothing will change for you or the family. After the Land Ownership Decree of 1721, land in Ministry-approved magical settlements, Godric’s Hollow being one, falls to the oldest male inhabitant. Designated land, and any buildings erected thereupon are for the land-owner to hand over as they wish, as they are not owned by the Crown. King George I was kind enough to allow us this luxury, though I digress …”

“You said, Albus, in your letters that it was for the purpose of having a house-elf come here? Could you not have procured a house-elf of your own? You know, it may allow Hogwarts house-elves to come and go here as part of their duties, but you do not personally own them. You are resident on a property that they will now come to, as is the case when you are resident at the school.”

“I know that, sir. That will be sufficient. Now, as their de facto master, would you kindly summon the elf, Bonky?”

“Very well. Bonky, come!”

Ariana and Kendra screamed as Bonky Apparated into the lounge with a loud ‘ _crack_!’. It took a moment for him to work out where he had been summoned.

“M-Master Albus, it delights Bonky to see him again! And the Headmaster here, too!”

“I don’t know what you plan to do with this elf, but as property of the school, I must ask you to keep him safe until he is returned. Thank you for giving so charitably to your school,” he said pompously, shaking Albus’s hand and departed without a word to the others.

“I’ll be in my room. Bonky, come with me!” he said, turning on his heels and leaving Aberforth to comfort their sobbing mother.

* * *

“Bonky, we’re not staying,” Albus told the elf as they entered his book-lined bedroom. He left a hastily scribbled note on his bed:

> _Mother, Aberforth, and Ariana. I apologise most sincerely. I know you must think me a troublesome, flippant child. I will see that no harm ever comes to you all, but I cannot stay in this house another day. I will write to you all and see you next summer._
> 
> _With love,_
> 
> _Albus_

“What does master mean?” Bonky enquired, whilst helping Albus fill his trunk. He took much longer than necessary handling the boy's star-spangled underpants.

“Will you escort me to Diagon Alley? Then we will return to Hogwarts together before the start of term.”

“Bonky go to London? Oh! The other elves will be angry with Bonky …”

“Bonky, you have been summoned to Hogwarts property, by the Headmaster, to escort a minor to Diagon Alley and protect him until he returns to school.”

“Well, when Master Albus says it like that, I supposes-”

“That’s settled, then. Will you kindly Side-Along Apparate us and my trunks to Diagon Alley?”

“Cider … long ... parrot, sir? Bonky don’t-”

“Apparate, Bonky! Like how you appeared when Scrimgroeur summoned you?”

“Oh, popty! I popty here and popty there! Certainly, Bonky will pop us to Diagon Alley, sir!”

The diminutive creature took Albus’s smooth palm in one bony hand, and clutched the stuffed trunks with another. His sharp, elfin face screwed up in concentration, and they Disapparated.

* * *

A tall, auburn boy appeared out of thin air on the bustling, cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. He was accompanied by a gleeful young house-elf and vast leather trunks which towered over him.

“Let us get these to The Leaky Cauldron, Bonky,” he said, approaching the establishment. “I packed rather too many books - not to mention eighteen bottles of … well, never mind - I think it would be prudent to set these down in a little suite. This will be our home for the next month!”

“Oh, hooray! This looks like a tavern, sir. Does they sell elf wine?”

“Er, maybe not the strong stuff you had at your party last year.”

“That was mild drinks, sir. Korpa was glugging the elf whisky. Now if you wants strong, master, speaks to Korpa.”

“I still have not managed to get the image of her exposed breast out of my mind, Bonky. I think I will stick to oak-matured mead … the wizard kind.”

So they booked a cosy room in The Leaky Cauldron and settled down for the rest of the summer. They spent most of their days exploring the wide array of shops, and their evenings in The Leaky Cauldron, drinking and playing games. Albus had taught Bonky how to play Exploding Snap, and Bonky had taught him an elf card game, though Albus turned in for the night when Bonky suggested making it a ‘strip version’. Wearing only a loincloth, Bonky would undoubtedly have spent the majority of the time fully nude.

The time flew so fast, and apart from all the owls he had sent to his family being ignored, he was having a wonderful time with Bonky. They had become so intimate with the Wizarding areas of London that the majority of the shopkeepers were now on first-name terms with them both. They entered Slug and Jiggers Apothecary for, what was probably, the twelfth time since taking up residence at The Leaky Cauldron.

“Young Master Albus, and little Bonky! A pleasure as always,” said the pretty shop assistant, Sylvia. “All ready to return to Hogwarts tomorrow, dear?”

Weeks really had passed by in a flash. Albus was eager to get back to intensive study, but he was dreading returning to Gryffindor Tower. It was difficult to live up to his reputation as a ‘brave Gryffindor’, when his most brutal abusers were in the same house.

“Oh, yes, Sylvia! Bonky is going to Apparate us, aren’t you, Bonky? I have special permission from Professor Scrimgeour to shun the Hogwarts Express in favour of Apparating directly into the castle, and returning this little one to the Kitchens.”

“But, Master Albus, I thought we were to be popping into the Potions Cupboard for stealings before going to-”

“Bonky! Be quiet! He doesn’t know what he is saying … silly elf. How is business, Sylv?”

“Oh, thriving, dear. Anything I can help you find?”

“Not particularly, though I did wonder about your selection of dragon products. What materials are useful?”

“Well, most dragon parts are useful in some way. We stock their hide, claw, dung, milk, eggs, heart … uh … horn, liver, and meat.”

“But not blood,” he noted.

“Well, no … it is not particularly useful. It has never been worth selling. We have buckets of the stuff when we are dissecting the dragons for parts, but it all either gets slung or sold for a sickle a barrel; some animals like to drink it, see.”

Albus thought he had made a revelation a few days prior, when in a second-hand bookshop he came across a journal, written in ancient runes. It had been stuffed into a chest full of equally ancient and worthless books labelled ‘indecipherable scraps, two knuts each!’. Albus had realised it was written in an obsolete rune system, unknown to many scholars because it was largely used by poor, barely literate people. Hundreds of pages long, it contained mostly tedious ramblings of an anonymous writer. What had caught his eye, however, was several references to using ‘ _drake’s bloud_ ’ around the house. This was the beginning of his quest to discover all the magical properties and uses of dragon’s blood.

“I’ll take a barrel for a sickle, if you have one available. Actually, make it three and send them on to my dormitory - Gryffindor Tower, Hogwarts.”

“Very good, sir. That will be four sickles; it's one sickle for delivery.”

* * *

N.B. The following text contains extracts from _The C_ _ _oll_ ected Journals of Albus Dumbledore _(Merlin Press, 2012). Thank you to the Dumbledore Family Trust for allowing us to print some of his diary entries. All intellectual property belongs to the aforementioned trust.

> _September 4, 1893_
> 
> Morning. Finally feel settled back in. Elphias is snoring away in his four-poster. Hamish made a run for it as soon as I woke up. He called me a sissy yesterday, and won’t look me in the eye. He is monstrous anyhow - I would not touch him with a fifty foot Quidditch hoop.
> 
> Besides, I have Rupert. I presented him with my eighteen bottles of Skele-Gro yesterday, after lessons. I spent a double period sucking up to Prof. Black, and then went on my merry way to the Hospital Wing. He is even more radiant than I remembered from last year. I knocked up a quick Ageing Potion, but it had little affect, besides making me break out in hideous spots. I was mortified! He loved the gift … now I need to concoct some different ways of having myself hospitalised. I would die of happiness if Mister Derwent had to spend all day and night doting on me.
> 
> Speaking of the spots - by serendipity I have now discovered my first use for dragon’s blood: spot remover! My order of three barrels arrived the day before last. I was so desperate to remove the spots. Alas, I didn’t think to try the blood until after I had seen Rupert. Such an accomplished student, and still the fool.
> 
> * * *

> _September 28, 1893_
> 
> This term has been so busy, it has been hard to sit down and write. I’ve had to send for more dragon’s blood - believe it or not I have used three barrels already. Bonky has been helping me. I have written reams and reams of parchment, listing ideas to try. Bonky’s magic helps me sneak into places, and do certain magic which I cannot do alone. Plus, it is nice to have a companion. Elphias is supportive and engaging with most of my outlandish schemes, but he just doesn’t understand this one. I know there is something to be discovered here. 
> 
> Bonky and I had been trying for weeks, checking off dozens of ideas. It never occurred to me that it might be worth trying for something so … mundane … but I thought I would humour him. Bonky made a cleaning solution - diluting 2 parts dragon blood with 3 parts spring water and, by Jove, it degreased the Hogwarts ovens like nothing the elves had ever seen. They have asked me to procure some blood for their own stocks - nothing else compares to that shine!
> 
> I should mention, I saw Klemens when I was down in the kitchens. My heart skipped a few beats, and butterflies filled my stomach. He has dyed his loincloth black now, it’s so handsome! He came swaggering up to me, tray in hand, and offered me a selection of sausages to try. "Oh, how does that sausage taste, master? You likes it?" he asked me, sliding a large one into my gaping mouth. Well, I could not put another sausage in my mouth without feeling unchaste. That elf will be the death of me - I cannot get the image out of my mind. When sausages were presented for breakfast this morning, I ran out of the Great Hall full of confusing lust.
> 
> * * *

> _October 15, 1893_
> 
> Things are starting to become a little strange. Bonky and I are attached at the hip, almost literally. He has started to sleep in my bed with me every night. Elphias and Hamish are not happy about it, but I have shown them my proficiency on certain testicle-twisting jinxes of my own design, and they have stopped complaining.
> 
> * * *

> _February 16, 1894_
> 
> I have been inundated with work. Prfs Dippet, Black, and Clearwater have been setting me extra homework to keep me challenged. I’m doing N.E.W.T. level assignments, as well as tutoring remedial first-years. Mother and Aberforth really don’t seem very impressed in their letters; they speak only of Ariana’s health, it’s so depressing, I’d rather not hear it. What can I do from here?
> 
> Finally, Bonky and I had a breakthrough with the dragon’s blood. Bonky is, of course, an extremely libidinous elf. I ignore him usually, but Elphias and Hamish are very put off by his constant masturbation. Bonky and I have been drinking the blood for a while now, as part of the research. We discovered a strange luminescence in his seminal fluid - the dragon’s blood had magically altered it. Once the altered semen is ingested - alas, the lengths I have gone in the pursuit of knowledge - I found myself in immediate need to open my bowels. Thus, the most efficacious laxative was discovered.
> 
> * * *

> _May 2, 1894_
> 
> Egad! What fresh Hell is this?
> 
> I removed the bones in my left arm, knowing full well that I would have to stay overnight in the Hospital Wing as my bones slowly grew back. Rupert doted on me with such kindness and devotion, but I was an outright dunderhead. I am wincing even now, to recollect my folly. I kissed him! A long, passionate kiss on his soft lips. He pulled away immediately and summoned the headmaster. I wept, believing myself to be expelled, but more distraught at the immediate rejection of my advances.
> 
> “This boy is very sick, headmaster,” he had told Scrimgeour. “He is suffering delirium, and may need to be hospitalised for a while. He assaulted me on the lips, sir!”
> 
> Scrimgeour assented at once to let Derwent hold me indefinitely. I was now stuck, day and night, with the subject of my torment. Three nights of agony passed before Bonky came to save me.
> 
> “Bonky wondered where young master had gone,’ he said, having Apparated into the Hospital Wing. “Bonky can’t sleep without master now. Bonky stays awake all night without cuddles.”
> 
> “Bonky!” I whispered in agitation. “Get me out of here! The exit is sealed, and my wand is in Derwent’s office.”
> 
> “No problems, master. Bonky will summon your wand,” he clicked his fingers, “and now take Bonky’s hand. Master can stay with the elves!”
> 
> So I slept in the largest bunk in the kitchens. My feet, and half of my shins still sticking out of the end. Finally, Scrimgeour let me return to Gryffindor Tower, after I threatened to go to the Ministry and expose a clear case of false imprisonment at Hogwarts.
> 
> * * *

> _July 28, 1894_
> 
> I’m home for the holidays. Mother and Aberforth still haven’t forgiven me for bestowing Hogwarts with the deeds to our house. Ariana is sweet to me, but I cannot withstand too much time in her company; it saddens me. Now I am spending all my time shut up in my room, and of course, Bonky is with me. He thinks I should submit my research on dragon’s blood to a peer-reviewed academic journal. Well, he didn’t use those words - I think he said, “master should show to big ‘demics, sir. They going to know he has big brain like they’s!”
> 
> I think I will wait until I have more material to present. Bonky and I have been working through our list, but he seems to only suggest ideas that involve rubbing it onto our privates. He really is a salacious fiend. I finally indulged one of his vulgar ideas, by letting him slather various parts of my body in different blends and emulsions. While he spent a disproportionate amount of time on my genitals, we had a eureka moment on my left knee. While using an emulsion of oatmeal and dragon’s blood, we discovered it had transformed a very ordinary scar into an exact map of the London Underground.
> 
> And there was the fourth use: turning unremarkable scar tissue into useful diagrams, or even works of art. Since that discovery, we have tried the mixture on a homeless Muggle (later Obliviated), and his very boring circumcision scar turned into a miniature replica of a Rembrandt self-portrait!
> 
> N.B. Albus Dumbledore has since noted that his scar has changed over time, as the Underground has expanded and developed. It stopped changing upon his death in 1997.

* * *

> _September 6, 1894_
> 
> I think I may be a little drunk with power. Third year has started, and I have already got a term’s worth of detentions. The teachers here are generally disinclined to give me detentions - I’m studying at a post-seventh-year level now. This instance, however, I really stepped over the line where they could turn a blind eye.
> 
> I had been brooding all summer about how 'Dodgy Derwent' had spurned my advances. And locking me up in the hospital like a lunatic in an asylum! Albus Percival Wulfric _Brian_ Dumbledore, the brightest asset to walk through these halls for centuries, treated like an insane Muggle! I was determined just to get a taste of what I wanted.
> 
> With the help of Bonky, I procured some Polyjuice Potion and a strand of Professor Clearwater’s hair. As the prettiest, most buxom member of staff, I knew 'Dodgy Derwent' would never refuse _her_. 
> 
> I cornered him yesterday afternoon, myself an exact image of Professor Clearwater. I had sealed the door of the Hospital Wing behind me, and stripped off my robes to reveal some lingerie Bonky had stolen from a sex shop in Knockturn Alley. He was salivating with lust for me, the dog! I writhed and moaned like a harlot, as he pounded my flower on one of the freshly made hospital beds. I lost track of time in the throws of ecstasy, and nearly an hour had passed of him penetrating me, sweat dripping down his flushed masculine physique. Finally, he had shot his potent cream for the third time inside my inflamed loins. He was just approaching the peak to erupt for a fourth time when the potion began to wear off. He had his eyes closed, but he started to feel my full breasts start to deflate and his penis squeezed out of the rapidly closing vaginal cavity. He screamed in delicious horror as he opened his eyes and saw his dribbling erection touch Albus Dumbledore’s. I thought he was going to kill me there and then, and it would have been worth it.
> 
> After a two hour meeting had elapsed, in which I, Scrimgeour, Derwent, and Clearwater exchanged heated diatribes, my fate was sealed. Derwent pleaded for my immediate expulsion, but I managed to convince Scrimgeour that I was acting out a fantasy Derwent had divulged to me. He had, of course, groomed me to do his bidding in my long stay in the Hospital Wing last year. I had the elf, Bonky, help me escape because I was subjected to such perverted torture by the evil Derwent. They sucked up my lies with ease - grown ups always believe the most convenient option, not the most logical. Derwent has left the castle and, I suspect, now plotting my downfall in early retirement.
> 
> The detentions were for charging a house-elf with stealing a potion and lingerie. Bonky and I laughed about it all night, and fell asleep in each other’s arms with wicked smiles on our faces.

* * *

_Kitchens, Hogwarts Castle_

_May 1985_

Another school year was nearly over. Albus could not believe his baby brother would start Hogwarts in a few months. He had made a reputation for himself as brilliant and frightening. Most students avoided him altogether; even the bullies had been too scared to cross him for months.

Ever since the Derwent fiasco, Albus had grown a sense of his own power. He was so confident that he could get anything he wanted. For a few weeks, he had been meeting Klemens regularly in the kitchens for no-strings-attached fun. To his great surprise and pleasure, their experimentation had led to a fifth discovery of the use of dragon’s blood. It was a perfect anal lubricant.

“Master, you wants Klemens to apply the blood today?”

“Yes. I have scourgified my anus, you filthy fuck slave. Now, slather it thickly round my fuck hole and all over that elf pole.”

“Yes, master. Klemens likes to do as he is told with you. Only you, sir.”

“I know, you little rebel. You wouldn’t dare rebel against a great wizard, would you?”

“Never!” Klemens exclaimed, glancing at Albus’s wand which was sat on the bundle of robes he had removed.

“So, pray, slide that bloody elf-truncheon up my puckering roundmouth!”

“Do what, sir?”

“Fuck my boy-cunny! Stick that throbbing needle up my hungry secret passage!”

He spread his legs as wide as they would go, and gestured wildly at Klemens’s turgid member. Finally, the elf understood, and union was established.

Unbeknownst to Albus, Klemens had been drinking dragon’s blood for days. The elves had concocted a tasty new cocktail with their stores of blood. Similar to a Bloody Mary, they had mixed the blood with elf vodka, Worcestershire sauce, garlic, celery, and black pepper. It was now a staple drink amongst the Hogwarts elves, and Klemens had been partaking of the refreshment with much zeal.

The elf had emptied his luminescent load in Albus’s mouth, who swallowed it with great eagerness. He had not noticed the different, ominous sheen as the nectar squirted down his anticipating gullet. Within seconds, a sinister rumbling began in his stomach, and travelled quickly down to his rectum with the fire-power of a dragon. There was no time to move, and with one apocalyptic rupture, his bowels opened into a projectile fountain of chunky, brown liquid. The poor elf was drenched in Albus’s diarrhoea, and part of both of their soul’s withered away.

Albus spent the remaining few weeks of term wishing the time away, and seriously considering Obliviating himself, so he could forget the disastrous encounter with Klemens. He had read so many horror stories about victims of badly executed Self-Oblviation, so he decided he would have to live with the memory. It was from this day that Albus began his ceaseless pursuit of perfecting the art of Occlumency. No one would _ever_ get to see that memory.


End file.
